


Changing Lanes

by theheartchoice



Series: DeanCas | Eureka AU [1]
Category: Eureka (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel is in the next ficlet i promise, Driving, Explicit Language, Ficlet, Gen, Legal Guardian Dean Winchester, M/M, Nighttime, Orphan Claire Novak, POV Dean Winchester, Pre-Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sassy Claire Novak, Storms, Teenage Rebellion, US Marshal Dean Winchester, Vignette, implied Asa Fox/DeanWinchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-31 22:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13984518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheartchoice/pseuds/theheartchoice
Summary: Just a short intro scene to aEureka AUno one asked for.Featuring U.S. Marshal Dean and teenage delinquent Claire.





	Changing Lanes

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS:  
> There are a few jabs taken at Dean's sexuality by Claire because she's angry with him and wants to get under his skin. Even though they're not intended as homophobic/biphobic slurs (because her character is not a bigot), without any further scenes they may be misconstrued as such. I didn't know how to tag that, so here is your warning for it. 
> 
> AU Content:  
> Asa Fox is Claire's father _because reasons_. Also, Cas is _not_ in this intro ficlet. Neither him nor Dean are even aware of the other's existence at this point, but they will meet in the next few scenes. If you've seen the [Pilot episode of **EUREKA**](https://www2.solarmovie.today/tv-show/watch-eureka-2006-season-1-episode-1-online-free.html) you know they ( _Carter_ , ie. Dean + _Allison_ , ie. Castiel) meet in the first 20 minutes and going forward their chemistry/relationship is a key focus of the show.
> 
> EDIT: March 21, 2019   
>  This ficlet is now officially the beginning of my [**DeanCas | Eureka AU**](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1310126) series! 

* * *

“ _DAMMIT_ , _Claire!_ —”  
  
Swerving in the rain to avoid smearing his hood with some unknown woodland creature is just the cherry on top of the shitstorm sundae that has become Dean Winchester’s life.  
  
“Chill, would you? It’s just music.” For someone who just narrowly avoided a fiery car crash, Claire’s pretty mellow right now. It wouldn't surprise him if she'd experienced worse though, considering the company she’s kept the past few years. “You don’t like it, tune it out. You’re good at that..”  
  
Another jab.

Ninety eight percent of their time on the road these past eighteen hours has been spent trading snark. The remaining two percent has been filled with pancake-stuffed silence, exhausted snores in the grated backseat, and improvised drumming on said grate with a pair of knitting needles - which are in suspicious contrast to Claire’s whole _delinquent-neo-grunge_ thing she’s got going on.  
  
And she takes up that drumming shit again, continuing her solo on the metal of her so-called ‘cage’. At least she seems tired enough to be less angsty about it, this time. The storm picking up outside seems to distract her a bit, too.

“Yeah? Well _music_ is ‘spose to have a _rhythm_.” He reaches down to upright the fallen bag which had spilled into the footwell. “And I was referring to _this."_  Meaning the box of condoms he’s now holding up that somehow flew across the front seat and tried to wedge itself under the brake pedal.

“What?” She deadpans in the rearview mirror, “Safe sex is a crime now?” and pauses her drumming just to smoosh her face against the grate, peering into the open bag. “Hey—you see my stash in there? I’m _starving_..”  
  
Belly full of pancakes and taquitos and yet she’s ‘starving’. Teenage metabolism.

He rummages around, keeping one hand firmly on the wheel and both eyes on the road. Pulling two candy bars out he’s met with a near-inhuman noise - the kind that only comes from a teenager who hasn’t eaten in _ohmygod!_ three hours - griping impatiently from the backseat.

Butterfinger unwrapped, he takes a bite; not at all shy about how good it really is.  
  
“ _HEY!_ —”  
  
She rears up but Dean just pockets the Reese’s Pieces in his leather jacket―and is immediately met by a fierce rattle of the backseat cage.

“ _GIMME_ my Reesies, _JERK!_ —” A palm slams against the grate to emphasise her demand. But these things are built for hardened criminals. He’s not phased by a sixteen year old with an attitude problem.

“Oh-hohh! No can do, kiddo!” He layers his smirk with a not-so-serious pout, directing it into the rearview mirror so she can see. “These snack-foods are now in the custody of the U.S. Federal Marshal service and will serve as evidence in the felony you committed—“ he checks the time on the dash, “— _nineteen_ hours ago.”

With a huff she throws herself back against the vinyl. She’s scowling at the back of his head, he can feel it. A quick look in the mirror confirms the tight twist of her lips and the death-glare bordered by dark makeup, arms folded tightly over an oversized denim jacket complete with plastic spikes, sewn patches and Anarchist badges.

A hard boot to the grate startles him - but he doesn’t flinch (at least not that she can see). He takes the hint though, and averts his eyes fully back to the road. The headlights blaze through the dark and the downpour as they continue along the forested route through the middle of nowhere. 

It doesn’t take long for her mood to turn elsewhere - and it turns on him. _Again_.

“Y’know we’re lost, right?”

“We’re not lost.”

His phone would probably disagree, if he had any service.

“You should learn to read a map. Like one of your mail-order hookups, would say: _It’s not the journey that counts, it’s the destination_.”

His eyeroll gets directed out the windshield. She’s trying to rile him up with her special brand of adolescent snark, but it’s not gonna work.

“Uh, that’s mail _room_ , Ms. Fox,” he corrects around a mouthful of peanut-buttery goodness. “I’m not footin’ the bill for some _Busty Asian_ shemale bride, okay? Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” Because there isn’t. Well, except the paying-for-a-bride, part. That’s pretty messed up. “Let’s just get that straight right now.”  

" _Straight_ ," she snorts," right." That earns her one of Dean’s own death-glares over his shoulder - and he doesn’t need an inch of eyeliner to sell it. Her gulp is barely perceptible, but he sees it. “Well, you’re swallowing the evidence there, _Marshal_.”

Dean taps his side, the bag of candy crinkling in his pocket and he talks around another mouthful, “I only need one.”

“Yeah. I know how you love to _swallow_..”

He pauses mid-chew. She’s baiting him. He's not gonna bite - his mouth is already full. She can just sit there and brood. 

He'd turn the radio on for a distraction - for both their sakes - but this far out in cabin country there’s no signal. Same as his cell, which is inching its way towards the big sleep: zero bars.

He wonders how scenic the scenic route would be if not for the night and the horizontal rain forcing him to lower his speed and flick the high-beams on. Without meaning to, he also wonders what would happen if they _did_ crash: would Claire manage to slip away and hitch a ride on the first big-rig that came along? Is she that desperate to get away from him, from his help? Does she really consider Dean a untrustworthy nowadays, or just a stranger? 

After twelve months of watching her criss-cross the country on a lowkey crime-spree, Dean had found a letter from her father. Asa’s landlord had informed him that the basement storage space needed to be cleared out so they could rent the apartment. The letter was all set to be popped in the mail with Dean’s address clearly printed on the envelope, stamped and dated just a few days before his friend’s untimely death.

Dean had been based out of the Chicago office for almost five years when his former partner died. Asa and Claire had moved to Portland to be closer to family. Dean may have been her godfather but they saw less and less of each other as Claire grew up. She entered the tumultuous phase of teenagedom without Dean around.

And Dean had _always_ been around. He and Asa went all the way back to basic training and he knew Claire’s mother from when Claire was still in her belly.

With both her parents now gone, he has a promise to keep.

Claire’s boot collides again with the metal grate.  
  
“ _Hey_ —” He hits it back with an open palm, “Y’know, you should be thankin’ me, kid.” He can feel Claire’s eyeroll. “Your friends weren’t so lucky. If I hadn’t called in some favors and pulled you from that lineup, you’d be booked and on your way to county lock-up as we speak.”  
  
“I’m sixteen. They can’t arrest me.”

“Yeah, well, you hated the group home, didn't you? That’s a cakewalk compared to Juvie.”

“Oh— _SCREW YOU!_ —” Boot. Cage. Rattling the hinges this time, which is impressive. “I didn’t ask for any favors, _Marshal_ —I didn’t ask you to save me!”  
  
“No, you didn’t. But I did it anyway, and you wanna know why?”  
  
“NO.”  
  
“Because I care about you, Claire.”

Like his own flesh and blood, he cares.

She mutters something under her breath and for the rain pelting down harder he can’t make it out.

“I’m not just gonna let you rot in some cell. You’ve made mistakes, and you’ve got one helluv an attitude, but you don’t deserve that. You’re better than that.”

“Gimme a break..”  
  
“What?” He glances in the mirror again, unable to place her demeanor just by tone.

She hugs herself tightly, like it's the only security she can count on. Arms folded over layers of flannel and torn denim, jagged pink hair and inky eyes; the fashion of rebellious angst. And yet, there’s a smile twisting her scowl.

“You don’t care about me,” she mumbles through a tense jaw in the reflection. “You just feel guilty ‘cos dad died and mom’s a flake.” Dean grips the wheel tighter. “And you don’t _know_ me—you have no idea what I _deserve_. You don’t know what I’ve done..”

 _Shit_. He should’ve taken her in sooner. Shouldn't have let her run off after the funeral thinking she just ‘needed space’. Shouldn’t have gambled that her mother would actually stick around.

Attention split between the road and his goddaughter, Dean slows the car a little. 

“Alright, then. Tell me.”

She shakes her head, turns her face to the window. “You don’t get it..”  
  
“No, I don’t, Claire. So talk to me.” Nothing. “No judgement. I’m all ears.”

Silence.

“Would you really rather be locked up than let me help you?”  
  
“Screw you.”  
  
It feels like a reflex, more than anything. Like it’s the go-to when someone extends a hand because experience has taught her not to trust offers of help. Maybe that hand either ends up letting her fall or turns to push her back down. 

Claire’s urge to combat shrinks into the shadows. She shuffles closer to the window, leaning back against the headrest. Anger replaced with quiet, tired animosity.

She may be a pain in the ass but Dean can tell that she’s also  _in_ pain, and she really doesn't deserve to be. 

“Look.. you’re right.” He keeps his eyes forward, says it to the rain and the road. “I don’t know you. Haven’t really seen you since you started middle school.” And the sudden wish that he’d made more of an effort to be part of her life hits him hard in the gut and sour in his throat. “But whatever you may think about me, or about me and your dad, you’re family, Claire. You’ll always be family.”

Silence settles again. But it no longer feels like a mute storm to match the vocal one outside, one that’s been trying its damndest to strike him down, again and again.  

He wonders what it would take for Claire to open up to him. He wants her to talk, to know what’s going on inside her head so he can figure out how to help her. But pushing hasn’t worked the last eighteen hours, so.. he needs to come up with a new tactic. 

The letter Dean keeps tucked away in a draw back in Chicago, the one that’s been sitting there for the past year, tells him Asa wanted Claire’s legal runner-up guardian to take care of her, should anything happen to him. Nevermind her wayward mother, Asa entrusted the most important job in the world to his oldest friend. 

Dean has a promise to keep.

Another quick look in the rearview mirror shows Claire curled up against the door, pulling her giant denim jacket closer. Dean adjusts the heating and directs the vents to focus the airflow into the back.

The rain continues to hammer down. It’s been a while since the last sign of civilisation. He makes another wish - this one for the future, not the past. A wish for guidance on the road ahead - and not just this stormy highway west of _Nowhere_.  

A mile-marker shows in a flash of lightning and he glances toward the glove compartment; he cleared out his maps when the district upgraded their vehicles, but maybe he can figure something out from the generic ones he'd picked up during one of their refuels. 

But there’s no time to slow and pull the car over to check, no time to think―only react.

A tyre blows―dodgy backroads full of broken asphalt, probably―sending them fishtailing through the rain, veering off the road into a lightly wooded area.  

Claire screams as he slams the break―but the wet ground allows no grip and they mow down a young copse of trees. The car jolts to a stop on a sudden incline hard enough to deploy the airbags. 

Maybe his effort to avoid making Bambi a hood ornament earlier was just delaying the inevitable.  
  
Shoving the airbags aside, he’s still pinned in place, seatbelt and whiplash keeping him from turning around. He calls out to Claire.  
  
“You okay back there?” His heart goes from zero to sixty, he can’t catch his breath. But Claire’s all that matters right now. " _CLAIRE!_ —”  
  
—A painful cough wracks him, lungs heaving for air, chest aching from the bruises forming. He pushes through the pain, manages to unbuckle and twist in his seat..

..There’s movement.

Pink hair rises through the flashes of lightning, Claire pushing herself up from the seat where she presumably took shelter; smart, or maybe just lucky: the metal grate has busted loose, and if she hadn’t have ducked out of the way, or been thrown aside, it would’ve caught her in the jugular.

So much for upgrades.

But she’s moving, and breathing, and she seems mostly okay as she falls back against the opposite door.

“Not dead,” she groans, hand to her shoulder—a bloodstain soaking the light denim above her elbow.  

Dean’s heart takes off on another sprint.

“You’re hurt—”

He pushes through the stiffness in his torso, his arms, shakes the grate loose and lets it drop, reaching for her.

Peeling back the layers of her jacket and two plaid shirts, she helps him by tugging down the jersey neck of her base layer. The entry point looks surprisingly like a bullet wound.

Objectively, it doesn’t seem bad; just a flesh wound. Not that big, not that deep, not in a severe location.

But this is Dean’s goddaughter, so anything more than a papercut is gonna _freak_ his heart the _fuck out_.

“..‘m okay..”

“Claire, you’re _bleeding_!”

She smiles―friggin’ _laughs_. That should be a good sign, but Dean’s still worried as _fuck_.

Catching her breath, head leaning back against the window, she just gestures to the footwell beside her.

A red-tipped knitting needle lies under the dislodged metal grate.

“Think I deserve my Reesies now, Jerk.”

Yeah.. Okay.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> You can subscribe to more ficlets from this 'verse here: [**DeanCas | Eureka AU**](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1310126).
> 
> Since it now has its own series, I have removed this ficlet from my 'Fusion Fragments' series - but you can still keep up to date with my other TV + Movie Fusion ficlets in that one: [**DeanCas | Fusion Fragments**](https://archiveofourown.org/series/969630).


End file.
